


From the Front Desk

by whatabadchoice



Series: Tuesdays [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Phone Sex, hotel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9463889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatabadchoice/pseuds/whatabadchoice
Summary: “Dean speaking.”Castiel stares at the reflection of himself in the free standing mirror beside his mattress. Oh no.“Hello?”Castiel can suddenly taste the burn of alcohol in his throat as his heart hammers out of his chest. Oh God. Oh no.“Listen, I can’t hear you, so,--”“Hello,” Cas chokes out in a panic. He hears an intake of breath.“Hello…”“Uh, hi. Mr. Smith. It’s Castiel. From the front desk?” Castiel begins. Then, cursing himself, “I mean, uh, not from the front desk. Or at least, not right now.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! sorry this took so long but it's because I am terrible at writing ABO smut, actually smut in general, I apologize in advance for this mess.
> 
> oh and also see the end notes for a few thoughts!

MAY 17TH

“Dean speaking.”

Castiel stares at the reflection of himself in the free standing mirror beside his mattress. Oh no.

“Hello?”

Castiel can suddenly taste the burn of alcohol in his throat as his heart hammers out of his chest. Oh God. Oh no.

“Listen, I can’t hear you, so,--”

“Hello,” Cas chokes out in a panic. He hears an intake of breath.

“Hello…” 

“Uh, hi. Mr. Smith. It’s Castiel. From the front desk?” Castiel begins. Then, cursing himself, “I mean, uh, not from the front desk. Or at least, not right now.”

Mr. Smith chuckles lightly as Castiel mentally kicks himself.

“Right. I figured as much,” comes Mr. Smith’s voice and it is very low and very, _very_ appealing.

“Right, caller ID,” Castiel says absently, his drunken thoughts veering off into a dangerous zone. Dean laughs again.

“Uh, no, actually,” he says, and Castiel’s attention is caught by the sheepishness in his tone. “I, uh, passed by the front desk.”

“To check?” Castiel can’t dampen the note of hope. In for a penny…

“Yeah,” Mr. Smith replies quietly. Castiel’s heart flips. He notices his mouth hanging open in the mirror and promptly closes it.

“I see.”

“Is there a… reason? For your call, I mean?” Dean says abruptly and Castiel realizes they’ve been silent for a moment.

“Yes,” he replies confidently. He pauses. “No,” he admits.

Mr. Smith laughs again. Castiel faintly wishes he could hear that sound forever.

“You don’t sound very sure, Cas.”

“Yes, well, there is a reason, obviously,” Castiel responds haughtily.

“Obviously,” Mr. Smith interjects.

“But…” Castiel wracks his brain. “I’ve forgotten.”

“You forgot why you called,” the guest repeats.

“Yes,” Castiel nods to his own reflection.

“Hmm,” Mr. Smith says, and thankfully he still isn’t angry. In fact, he sounds _playful_. “That’s pretty convenient.”

“Convenient?” Castiel splutters. “What? No! This wasn’t just some… some… _ruse_!”

“A ruse,” he repeats again, and Castiel is moments away from slapping himself and hanging up. 

But… Mr. Smith’s voice is so low that Castiel can almost feel it scraping up against his spine. He may have definitely maybe had a bit too much to drink. He takes another small sip out of the bottle anyway.

“Right,” Castiel agrees, swallowing. “I mean, exactly, no. _Not_ a ruse.”

“A ruse for what exactly?” Mr. Smith asks. 

“To… to…” Castiel falters. “To do things. To… or with… you?” His answer comes out as more of a question and he can almost hear Mr. Smith’s smirk.

“So, what you’re saying is that this phone call is definitely not a ruse. _Not_ a ruse to _do things to or with me_.”

“Exactly. Not that.”

“Castiel, are you by any chance intoxicated?”

Castiel sighs loudly.

“That’s besides the point,” he answers with as much dignity as he can muster while painfully aware of the way his words sort of blur together.

“I see,” Mr. Smith replies, and Castiel can still hear that stupid smirk and his mate really shouldn’t be this _smug_. Even if they are both Alphas.

“I have had a very long day, I’ll have you know,” Castiel argues. Mr. Smith makes a sympathetic noise from deep in his throat and Castiel vaguely wonders if he could record that and set it as a morning alarm.

“What happened, Cas?” he asks, tone turning serious.

“Well I’m not at work, as you noticed, and it’s my own fault and the suspension doesn’t really matter, but today was just so _long_ , you know? Do you know what I mean, Mr. Smith? I went to the centre and it felt like it would never end and he’s not doing well. But what can I even do? What can I do? Nothing. Work at this shit job, but they won’t even let me work there and see you,” Castiel takes a breath. “It’s just so long and so _hard_.”

Castiel could have kept babbling on for a while, probably, except he hears what sounds suspiciously like suppressed giggling. He thinks back on his words, frowning.

“I fail to see what is so funny about my misery…”

“No, no. Sorry, Cas, sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind, and we can talk about it, seriously. It’s just...” Mr. Smith lets out a little laugh. “That’s what she said.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, forgetting about his day for a moment.

“Actually, in my case, I’d much prefer that’s what _he_ said,” Castiel corrects without thinking. 

There is a terrifying pause in which neither of them says a word.

“Sorry, my drunk mouth just will not behave tonight,” Castiel quickly adds. “We can go back to talking about my awful situation or perhaps the illegal things I would like to do to my superiors right now.”

Mr. Smith is still silent. Castiel once again contemplates hanging up without another word. He’s actually pulling the phone away when Mr. Smith speaks.

“... your mouth,” comes the end of his faint mumbling.

“I’m sorry?” Castiel asks.

A pause.

“You never have to apologize for that mouth,” Mr. Smith intones, louder now, tone waveringly salacious.

Castiel freezes.

His pulse ratchets up almost automatically in response to the tone Mr. Smith is using. Could he… was this…?

“Mr. Smith, I…” Castiel starts, but his voice breaks as an image of what Mr. Smith could be doing right this minute, what Castiel has thought of doing since he picked up the phone, flashes in his mind’s eye.

“Cas,” Mr. Smith says, but it isn’t clear if it’s an admonishment or an imploration. Castiel hears a small whine from the other end of the line and his imagination goes haywire.

Then Mr. Smith clears his throat, and Castiel hears a soft thud that could be a body hitting a mattress, but he can’t be sure. Wishful thinking, maybe.

“Cas.”

This time it’s a directive.

“The way I see it, this can go one of two ways.”

He waits for Castiel to answer. He makes a noise of acknowledgment, unable to trust his own voice.

“We can sit here, talk about how shitty our jobs are, how your boss suspended you for whatever bullshit reason or how mine’s on my back for a project under someone else’s supervision. We could chat about the weather, even, until you completely sober up or wanna go to sleep. Honestly, we could just shoot the shit and I’d be alright with that,” Mr. Smith says plainly, pausing to take a breath. He hesitates and adds, quieter, “I don’t know why you called tonight, Cas, but talkin’ to you is the best part of most of my days, seems like.” He pauses again. 

“Or…”

“Or?” Castiel asks, voice cracking. Mr. Smith chuckles again, the laugh a rich sound over the line.

“Or you could tell me more about that mouth of yours, Alpha.”

Castiel can’t help the way his breath whooshes out of his chest.

“This was a mistake,” he blurts. “I should go, this was… ill-advised.”

“Now, hold on--”

“I never do this. I’ve never done this, I promise. I can’t believe I’ve done this, actually,” Castiel’s mouth is running and it’s much less sexy than anticipated.

“Hey, now, I didn’t think--”

“No! Really, Mr. Smith, this is completely past the line, this is on another realm of inappropriate, I really shouldn’t…”

“Castiel!” Mr. Smith practically shouts. 

Castiel falls silent (but not without a fleeting thought about his error in avoiding Alphas in past relationships).

“Okay, we really don’t have to. Like I said, it was just an idea. Sometimes it helps, you know, to… wind down. Feel good.”

Castiel does not have the wherewithal to answer anything productive to _that_ so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything, I just thought… Sorry, man, it’s cool. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether receptionists are just doing their job. Now I’m being a huge creep. Just forget it. How come you’re calling me, Cas?”

“I… am drunk. And I missed you,” Castiel admits. Steeling himself, he adds, “And this isn’t just doing my job.”

“No? Not just offering a Service So Memorable?” the guest teases. “I, uh… I missed you too, Cas.”

“This was a very, very bad choice,” Castiel mutters, a little to himself.

“Ah, see, that’s where we disagree.”

For the first time, Castiel actually smiles. Well, this was not what he was expecting.

“What _were_ you expecting, then, Cas?” Mr. Smith asks, and Castiel realizes he said that out loud too. “I mean, you called a guest late at night from your personal cell phone.”

“I know, I’m so _sorry_ ,” Castiel whines. Mr. Smith just chuckles. “I guess… Well, I guess I did expect to… um…”

“Get in my imaginary pants?” Mr. Smith asks, and Castiel can picture his raised eyebrow.

“God, yes, okay, yes,” Castiel admits in a rush, feeling better when he surprises yet another laugh out of Mr. Smith. “You didn’t misread anything, I’m just… conflicted.”

“Conflicted.”

“I have a responsibility, Mr. Smith,” Castiel says, mostly to remind himself of that fact. The job means benefits, the benefits mean he can support Samandriel, supporting Samandriel means he can be the brother he should have been years ago. “And I am slightly intoxicated.” 

“Well that settles it,” Mr. Smith says. 

“What’s that?” 

“That settles it. You’re free,” Mr. Smith states plainly. Castiel laughs.

“Oh. Okay then,” Castiel says cheerfully. “Great. Looks like I don’t have to take care of anything anymore then? I’m good? Just not going to do my duty, not going to be an adult. Everything is likely to be completely fine. I see that now.”

“Great, glad we agree,” Mr. Smith responds easily. Castiel glares at the ceiling, falling back onto his bed with a huff. 

“Cas, I’m serious,” Mr. Smith says. “I get it… I got stuff too, you know? Maybe you didn’t notice with your big bad Alpha problems and worrying about whatever is going on in your brain, but… I know what it’s like to let people down.”

Castiel doesn’t know quite what to say to that. Has he been selfish? Most of musings about Mr. Smith have been either wishing he was around to distract him or extremely explicit fantasies. Huh. Well, if he was hoping to become better than the man who nearly killed his own brother, it was beginning to look like Castiel had failed.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Cas,” Mr. Smith adds, as if reading Castiel’s mind. “I just want to tell you that we all need to be let off the hook sometimes. And I know you worry a lot, little Alpha.”

Castiel can’t help the sharp intake of breath at that. _Little_ Alpha really should be an insult, and it does sort of rub his instincts the wrong way. There is nothing _little_ about him, thank you very much. But the fondness with which Mr. Smith uses the pet name so flippantly makes Castiel want to sink his teeth into him, maybe even literally.

“And when I’ve had a shit day and I feel like I’m not good enough… I don’t know,” Mr. Smith mumbles. “It feels good to talk to you. To hear your voice.” Even quieter, he adds, “To smell your scent on me after.”

Castiel shivers. 

“So what I’m saying is… You’re free, okay? At least with me,” Mr. Smith continues. “If you let me, I could take care of you, Alpha.”

“You _must_ stop calling me that, Mr. Smith.”  
“Must I?” Mr. Smith asks with a smile in his voice. Castiel’s fingers tighten on the phone. He’s _challenging_ Castiel. 

When Castiel doesn’t answer, Mr. Smith sighs.

“Is this alright, Cas? Will you let me?” he says quietly.

Maybe it’s the quickly fading effects of the alcohol, or the way Mr. Smith’s voice curls around the receiver like a physical thing, or maybe Castiel is tired, just tired and lonely and…

“Yes, you must. Because,” Castiel starts, voice wobbly, but gaining confidence as he continues. “I said so.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to hear a little hitch on the other side of the line and the remaining blood in his brain rushes south.

“Oh really?” the man responds, a smirk audible in his tone. “What are you gonna do about it, _Alpha_?”

“Are you touching yourself?” Castiel blurts. He’d feel embarrassed, except the hand he isn’t using to hold his phone up is already tugging at his sweatpants. Having changed into them as soon as he came home from the centre, Castiel is naked in seconds, palming the beginning of an erection greedily.

“No,” comes the unexpected response from Mr. Smith. Castiel pauses, heart pounding in fear. “You didn’t tell me what to do yet, _Alpha_.”

Oh, no. Mr. Smith might actually ruin him.

“Good,” he rumbles, scrambling to keep up with this gorgeous man. How on earth had he stumbled into this situation? “Tell me, um, what you’re doing.”

“I’m, uh, just sitting here, Cas,” Mr. Smith says with a little laugh. Castiel blushes. Good thing this man is also an Alpha; Castiel could use some direction in bossing people around. 

“Sorry, I’ve never done this before,” Castiel starts, but Mr. Smith cuts him off.

“Can’t believe I’m the only one who gets to hear you like this,” Mr. Smith says lowly. Castiel closes his eyes to concentrate on the sound of it. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

Castiel _whines_. Alright, Mr. Smith is much better at this apparently.

“Yeah,” Mr. Smith sounds amazing like this, Castiel can almost imagine his scent. “But I need you, Cas. Gotta help me. What should I do?”

Mr. Smith _needs_ him, and if that doesn’t trigger some sort of primal want in Castiel.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” Castiel orders. He can almost hear the man on the other line’s grin. Castiel, for his part, tries not to react when he hears Mr. Smith’s muffled hum.

“I’ve thought about this,” Castiel says quietly. He opens his eyes for a moment, staring up at his bland white ceiling before closing his eyes once more. “I’ve thought of you.”

Castiel toys with himself, imagining Mr. Smith. Maybe he’d call him that, just for fun. Maybe he’d throw in a sir, if he were here. His inner Alpha balks at that, a small growl slipping from his mouth as his own fingers travel down to his thigh. But maybe Castiel could submit to this Alpha.

“Cas,” Mr. Smith gasps. 

“I didn’t tell you to remove your fingers, Mr. Smith,” Cas admonishes. Mr. Smith makes a noise between a groan and a scoff.

“You’re not telling me anything, over here, _Alpha_.”

And there it is again, that lilt in his voice that suggests disobedience and power and _challenge_.

“I expect you to follow my instructions when I speak, if you are to insist upon calling me that. On your back,” Castiel commands, and he’s surprised to find that his voice is laced with Alpha undertones. He’s even more surprised to hear Mr. Smith immediately complying. 

“Are you naked?” Castiel asks, but it comes out as more tentative than commanding, so he clears his throat nervously. 

For a moment, Castiel wonders why Mr. Smith isn’t answering. That could not have been too far, he’d barely even -- Oh.

“You may answer me,” Castiel amends. 

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Touch your nipples for me,” Castiel murmurs into the phone. In his mind’s eye, Mr. Smith writhes beneath him. He squeezes his eyes shut and puts a hand on his own length, the image only intensifying when he hears a muffled gasp.

“Don’t hide from me, I want to hear you.”

“Cas, please,” comes the panting voice from the other line. 

“Please what?” 

“Please, sir, can I?”

“Tell me what you want, Mr. Smith,” Castiel replies. He strokes himself faster, unable to keep completely silent as he anticipates the words falling from Mr. Smith’s lips. 

“Please, Castiel. Touch me.”

Castiel feels the growl rip from his throat and he turns over on his bed so that he is braced on one of his elbows, his free hand still working himself over as he thrusts into the circle of his own hand. 

“Wet your fingers for me again, suck them for me,” Castiel orders, but his voice is sounding less cool and commanding and more desperate and panting at this point. He’s too busy to care about it much right now anyway.

“I want you to do it yourself, Mr. Smith. Can you touch yourself for me?” Castiel asks. He immediately hears a sigh of relief, and can’t help the smirk on his face. Well, maybe he could get used to this role. “Keep your hands away from your cock,” he adds nonchalantly. He hears a confused whine.

“What?” Mr. Smith asks sharply. 

Castiel feels a little thrill. He can’t tell if it’s from frustrating Mr. Smith, or knowing he’s done as he was asked despite wanting otherwise.

“You heard me. I want you to pretend I’m there with you. Get yourself ready for me.”

“Fuck!” 

Castiel hears a thump, like the phone hitting the sheets, and then the shuffling noises amplify. For his part, he drops his own phone, clicking speakerphone, and reaching over to his bedside table. Castiel rarely uses the fake channel in the second drawer, it is mostly for emergencies or in the occasion of a particularly difficult rut. Hearing the way Mr. Smith moans on the other end of the line is beginning to sound a lot like an emergency. Especially when the phone shifts and he can suddenly hear the slick sounds of skin on skin broadcasted in his tiny apartment.

It’s wrong, probably. Today was so long and if Castiel examines this comfort too closely, he knows he’ll find a reason to stop. So he doesn’t. Instead he listens to the moans coming from his phone as he clambers back onto all fours, channel in hand.

It takes a moment for Castiel to set it up. He briefly considers using the suction cup and moving to the floor in order to keep his hands free, but in the end he settles for leaving the phone on speakerphone, propping himself back up onto his elbows.

The feel of it makes him quiet. The silicone tube is usually a last resort, a hateful necessity that Cas pulls out when he absolutely cannot stand another minute of his rut. This is the first time he’s imagined it as a person, the first time he has used it when he’s wanted to be fucking into some _one_ rather than some _thing_. It almost feels right, it’s just…

“I wish I could smell you, I wish I could feel you,” Castiel says, eyes closed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Cas, _unh_ , gotta tell you, I ain’t thinking much right now.”

“Tell me,” Castiel repeats, ignoring the deflection and lacing some of his Alpha voice into the command for good measure. Mr. Smith makes a keening noise and the wet sounds intensify.

“Are you using your fingers?” Castiel says, before Mr. Smith can even answer his first question. He frowns when there is no answer.

“No,” Mr. Smith finally mutters. Castiel opens his mouth to reprimand him, his mate ought to obey, his mate ought to respect his Alpha. “I’m… _ah_... I have a… a…”

Castiel squeezes his fingers around his cock to stop himself from coming immediately. This man… is perfect. 

“Mr. Smith, are you using a toy without my permission?” he tries to keep his voice low, but the end result is part growl.

“Yes! Alpha, please!” Mr. Smith whines, and Castiel cannot find it in himself to be angry, not really. Castiel fucks into the fake channel, imagining the sight of Mr. Smith, ass up, a fake knot pumping in and out of his wet hole. He knows, objectively, that the man would need preparation for the real thing, that perhaps, if they were to actually engage in physical activities, Mr. Smith might want the roles to be reversed… But just the fact that the man had a fake knot ready and on hand, just the fact that he was open to the suggestion…

“I need-- _fuck, Castiel_ \-- please, I need,” Mr. Smith babbles. Castiel’s own thrusts accelerate with the tiny groans that Mr. Smith makes from the other side of the line 

“You need your Alpha? You need my cock? Tell me, I want to hear you say it,” Castiel babbles. He’s too far gone, a part of him knows it. The words are just slipping from his mouth and he’s going to say something stupid.

“I need you, Alpha! Please, knot me, wanna feel you all week,” Mr. Smith isn’t much better along, it seems, and Castiel bites his lip to keep the broken whine that threatens to come out of his mouth. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, don’t stop. I’m so close,” Castiel pants, a litany of _yesmategood_ escaping his lips. Mr. Smith is making these small whimpering noises interspersed with drawn out groans that sound suspiciously like _Alpha_.

“Fuck!” the man on the other line exclaims. Castiel is probably imagining it, but the sounds get slicker. “Mmm, yes. Cas, god, that felt good.”

Castiel pumps his hips furiously into the plastic contraption and tries to concentrate on his release. Come on, _come on_.

“Show me, Cas. Mate me,” Mr. Smith whispers into the receiver. Castiel cries out. “Knot me, Alpha, come on! Wanna feel you inside me, Castiel!”

Castiel’s knot finally catches on the entrance of the silicone channel. He groans one last time, probably uttering an embarrassing string of nonsense words he can’t be bothered to hold back, and then he’s finally _there_. 

“That’s right, Alpha, fill me up,” comes the sound of his mate’s voice and with his eyes closed, Castiel can almost imagine the scent of leather and whiskey and _him_.

“Oh,” Castiel utters after a moment, opening his eyes to the mess that are his sheets and bed.

“Yeah,” Mr. Smith replies, chuckling.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he says again, and Castiel tries to ignore the fluttering behind his ribs at the sound of _content mate_ in his voice.

“Feel better?” Mr. Smith asks. Castiel huffs.

“Um,” Castiel begins.

“Nice,” Mr. Smith replies. “Leave ‘em speechless. That’s my motto.”

Castiel can imagine his customary wink, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is.

“You were wonderful,” Castiel says quietly. “Thank you for sharing that, Mr. Smith.”

“Cas,” Mr. Smith retorts, a little reproachful. Castiel can’t see him, of course, but he hopes the man is blushing. It always did make his freckles stand out. “You gotta stop calling me that now.”

Castiel laughs, still basking in the afterglow.

“It would be unprofessional,” he maintains, failing to suppress a grin despite himself. 

His problems can wait a little longer, maybe.

“No, you’re right,” Mr. Smith says. “Definitely wouldn’t want to be unprofessional.”

“Of course,” Castiel ascertains solemnly. “Plus…” He pauses for effect. “It helps that you like it.”

Mr. Smith makes a protesting noise just a little too quickly, and then they’re both breaking into laughter.

“Seriously though, Cas,” he starts again, regaining his voice. “I, uh, want you to feel comfortable, ok? This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Castiel bites his lip. This is veering dangerously near the conversation in which they discuss what it meant to say “sweetheart” and “mate” and “mine” and Castiel would much rather steer clear of those kinds of questions just now. 

“Okay,” Castiel replies carefully.

“Okay?” Mr. Smith asks, but Castiel gives nothing away.

“Yes, I understand,” Castiel says. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable either, Mr. Smith.”

The man sighs at the title. 

“Okay,” Mr. Smith says. They sit in silence for a moment while Castiel refuses to acknowledge the awkwardness.

“Cas?” Mr. Smith asks. 

Castiel holds back a sigh. This is it.

“Thank you,” Mr. Smith says. Castiel’s eyebrows rise on their own.

“For what?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

“Just… being you. I’ve, uh,” Mr. Smith clears his throat as Castiel can hear shuffling of fabric. “I’ve met a lot of Alphas in my life. I gotta say, man, you’re one of the best. Don’t ever change, ok?”

“Well perhaps I shall endeavour to better repress drunken urges to disturb the guests at my hotel in the future,” Castiel begins to protest, though he feels much more clear headed than at the beginning of the call. Mr. Smith scoffs.

“First of all, not sure if you heard me, but that was _definitely_ not a bother,” he counters easily. “And second of all… Yeah. Maybe you should, actually. I don’t really want you callin’ other guests like this either.”

Mr. Smith laughs at his own joke as Castiel’s cheeks heat.

“God, I wish I could see you,” he adds. “Bet you’re all red.”

“Mr. Smith,” Castiel admonishes, but a yawn cutting through his reprimand makes it less effective. The man stops laughing, but Castiel has the distinct impression he is still mocking him. 

“Yeah, you should go to sleep, little Alpha,” Mr. Smith says. “You gonna be okay tonight?” he adds, concern lacing his voice. Castiel can’t help the warm feeling that blooms in his chest.

“Yes, thanks to you,” Castiel replies softly. 

“Ah well, for a good time call, and all that, right?” Mr. Smith jokes. Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says again, sincerely. Mr. Smith makes a non committal noise.

“Sleep well, Cas,” he advises instead of arguing further. “I want you back in tip top shape next time we chat.”

“You too,” Castiel replies. Then, throwing caution to the wind, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Novak,” Mr. Smith replies cheekily, but Castiel can feel the emotion swell between them. Or maybe he’s just projecting.

“Goodnight,” he says again, and Mr. Smith chuckles.

“Dork,” the man says softly. 

“Incorrigible,” Castiel counters.

“I’m not playing the you hang up game with you Cas,” Mr. Smith says gruffly. “So good fucking night.”

Castiel laughs, but tears the phone away from his cheek without another word. He presses end before the call is over, lays back on his mattress, and fights to keep the smile off his face despite the circumstances.

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel is drunk here and Dean isn't... I mean, I guess that could be viewed as dubcon? But I tried to convey that he was conflicted and unsure but eventually warms up to it. He has a lot going on so hopefully this is alright. If ever you feel I haven't warned enough/are uncomfortable with the way I portrayed this PLEASE let me know! ok that's it sorry again this is so awful lol.


End file.
